Chapter 4 - THE CONFESSION IN THE BASEMENT
The basement of the Moretti mansion wasn't a dungeon. It was a high-tech security archive. Rows of servers hummed in the climate-controlled air. Arthur Bellini sat tied to a metal chair. His expensive suit was rumpled. His gray hair was disheveled. Two guards stood behind him. Luca walked in slowly. I stood a few paces behind him, holding a tablet with financial records. “Arthur,” Luca said softly. The older man spat on the concrete floor. “You can't do this, Luca!” “I'm a respected businessman!” “You're a criminal!” Luca corrected. “And you tried to murder my daughter's future.” “I didn't try to murder her!” Arthur shouted. “I just wanted her out of the way!” “By sending her to a Swiss institution where patients never return?” Arthur went pale. “Who told you that?” “Dr. Bianchi,” Luca replied. “And the medical records.” Luca motioned to me. “Emily, read the transfer document.” I stepped forward. I tapped the screen. “On October 12th,” I read aloud, “Vanessa signed a permanent custodial agreement.” “It granted full medical guardianship to a facility in Zurich.” “A facility owned by the Bellini Corporation.” Arthur closed his eyes. “It was business,” he whispered. “Family business.” “Sofia is my blood,” Luca growled. “She is my only child.” “And you sold her for shipping routes.” “Vanessa wanted power!” Arthur yelled. “She wanted to be the queen of Chicago!” “She inherited her ambition from me!” “Then you can share her cell,” Luca said. He turned to the guards. “Take him to the harbor warehouse.” “Let him think about shipping lanes for a few days.” “No, please!” Arthur begged. “Not the warehouse!” The guards hauled him up. They dragged him out of the room. His screams echoed up the concrete stairwell. Luca didn't blink. He stared at the empty chair. “Are you alright, sir?” I asked. “Betrayal is a bitter pill, Emily,” Luca said quietly. “You trust someone with your life.” “And they plot your destruction behind your back.” “You have Sofia,” I reminded him. “She loves you.” Luca turned to look at me. The hardness in his eyes melted slightly. “Yes,” he whispered. “I have my daughter.” “Because of you.” He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Sandalwood and dark espresso. “You are more than a housekeeper, Emily.” “I am just doing my job, Mr. Moretti.” “No,” he said. “You are the only honest person in this house.” Before I could answer, a loud crash echoed from upstairs. Glass shattering. Screams. Luca's expression hardened instantly. “Stay here,” he ordered. He drew a silenced pistol from his shoulder holster. He bolted up the stairs.
